Lesser Men Cry
by Artisian
Summary: No child is born cold and distant, or unfeeling. While some make it a goal to achieve, one can hardly say that about Alex. So, excluding nature, that leaves, at least according to Jung, nurture. [Alex as a child, relationship with Ian]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Other than the fact that I don't own Alex Rider, nor will I ever have the means to do that, I just wanted to say that this fandom needs to have stories that are not written by hormone driven, teenaged girls that like to write themselves into the story. And not very skillfully, mind you. (Seriously, all I'm asking for is punctuation, capitals, and a plot that's not full of holes. That's_ it!_)

Though Ian remains a mysterious character in the Rider series, we see little parts of Ian in Alex. After all, he was the closest thing Alex has ever had to a father.

* * *

**Lesser Men Cry**

Prologue

Like the mother lion that pushes her cubs down the cliff so that she can raise only the strong that climb back up, Ian Rider routinely left his nephew-turned-successor challenges, from the time Alex was four, up until his own death.

When Alex was five, Ian had left their house in Chelsea before Alex had even gotten up. There was no note, no explanation. On the kitchen table, there was a row of objects. The first was a loaf of bread, the second a can of tuna, the third; a can opener. Then, as if Ian had an afterthought, there was a box of self-adhesive bandages.

Alex began to internalize everything after he realized that his uncle was never going to provide a stable pillar of support. His first injury had brought no tears. Alex had simply sat down on the concrete floor and watched the blood seep from the cut, until Ian had found him. Ian bandaged the cut with the same care and concern as a father; he just never seem to be able to express what he felt. Caring hands and a soft touch were eager to say the words their owner couldn't.

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Chapter One

_Now, half a year later, another challenge lay in store for Alex. _

The surreal noises of a foreign city at night barely registered with the small, fair-haired boy. Having been in more motel rooms than houses, this experience was definitely not something new for Alex.

A six-year-old Alex Rider sat on the floor of a cheap motel room, entertaining himself with a couple of plastic race cars. His mind was in emotional turmoil. Well, as much emotional turmoil as a six year old could be in. He was bored with the cars - they held their monotonous shape and offered nothing to a growing mind.

He also had no idea where in the world they were; just that he was with his uncle Ian, and that was enough. Just moments ago, Ian told him to 'stay put' and left the sparse motel room.

Desperate for entertainment, Alex scanned the motel room, taking in the cold tiles and the tacky green dinette set in the corner.

How much times must he sit in a motel room, alone, and without explanation? Without company? How many times must Ian leave him before he realizes that there may not be something for him to come back to?

There was an inexplicable pull towards the forbidding metal door. What was beyond the door was a mystery, and definitely alluring. The door seemed to have an aura that both repelled and attracted; the forbidden was tempting, but hey, it was forbidden for a reason - and probably a dangerous one.

His innocence manipulated the distance, lengthening the journey from where from where he wanted to be, and where he was supposed to be.

Finally, he made a decision. He leaped up with grace; more than the average six year old, carefully lined up his cars (he was an overly-organized six year old as well...), and used his short, overall-ed legs to propel him to the door.

* * *

_Vietnam in the rain is a solemn place,_ Ian Rider half thought, half sighed. He waited at the dirty curb for a moment, taking in the side of Vietnam that shows its face only at night. Prostitutes, shady dealings, and a destitute war amputee made Ian glad he had left Alex at home. Surely, a moment's loneliness was worth being spared the broken English being meant to entice him to enter the...Well...If there was a roof, it _could _have been called a brothel. Though it really would have been a stretch.

"Mee-stur! I ver-ly ceep!" A particularly garish woman called out.

_Yes._ Ian Rider thought. _I'm sure you seep from numerous places..._

Looking left and right before he crossed the street - after all that _was _what he taught Alex - something else caught his eye.

The blinking motel sign angrily accused Ian of not being there for his orphaned nephew, leaving him in a motel room, and not one of decent monetary worth at that! How _could_ he!?

Though not a God - fearing man at all, (Please. Missions past had taught Ian to fear Man more than God. God would never gun you down. Plague you maybe, but never gun you down. Man, not so much...) Ian said a quick prayer for his nephew and walked away. It may not have appeared as such, but Ian Rider had made a sacrifice.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Honestly, spelling, punctuation, and capitalization make the difference between someone reading your story, and clicking on it then realizing it was written by idiot without a spell-check program.

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**Lesser Men Cry**

Chapter Two

Alex glared at the door. The door glared back. A metallic glare versus a metallic panel.

A colder look has never been seen on a cuter face.

Guilt and self-doubt made his trip akin to the Escher's _Relativity_; long, endless, and maybe - ultimately - pointless.

Single steps were emphasized, the thudding of his trainers were amplified, movements were slowed with uncertainty.

Alex was relatively sure that he could go the whole mile if he could just get through the first barrier. Damn that accursed door!!

Could he really just leave? Like Ian had left him?

Five year olds weren't above _pleading_ for company. Alex had asked his uncle to stay, leave whatever he had to do for another night. Ian stopped halfway through the door and said, "Alex. I can't always be there with you."

The lonely child merely nodded, even _smiled_, and went back to his room, accepting that his uncle's job came before him.

Ian had tried his best, never realizing it wasn't enough.

* * *

A bitter wind swept the barren concrete landscape, chilling Ian's body to match his already cold heart.

Briefly - ever so briefly - Ian wondered how they had found him; before crushing that question with the fact that this was _M16 _he was dealing with. They had found him before hadn't they? They found him every time he tried to run. Every time, without question, they'd found him.

Great. Another thing for Alex to resent him for.

Ian had promised that this was the last time the two would move. Of course, promises have no place in the world of espionage.

Nothing made Ian sadder than telling Alex they would have to move again. He hated uprooting Alex. He had been uprooted so many times, he refused to grow roots anymore.

He spent his recesses alone, ignoring the cajoles of other kids; dismissed anybody with any intention of companionship.

Seeing Alex compliantly pack his few - and almost new - belonging into a battered suitcase, nearly made Ian give up right then and there. This was not the life he had pictured for his nephew. For himself. For anybody. The most difficult thing to stomach, the thing that tore him up at night, was that Alex had not chosen this life for himself. Ian had chosen for him.

Brushing these thoughts aside, Ian picked up his pace and hurried on, trying to warm himself up. A bitter smile crept onto his face as he attempted to make sense of what he was doing:

Running away from someone that loved him, and towards someone that would send him to his death without hesitation.

Life's funny that way.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: **Yes, short chapter to tide you over until life decides not to get so busy.

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**Lesser Men Cry**

Chapter Three

Alex grasped the door knob with both hands and twisted. The knob's internal mechanisms remained stubbornly unmoving. Oh, the cold indifference of the inanimate... Locked. It wasn't surprising; all precious things were. And freedom was no exception.

The lock presented only a momentary challenge; his uncle had left the key for him.

Alex felt a small twinge of guilt, knowing that his uncle had trusted his judgement enough to give him the option of leaving.

Ian had rubbed off on Alex. Doubt, suspicion and fear gave way to curiosity. The damage was done.

Alex grasped the forbidding metal of the key and shoved it deep inside the lock. Nothing happened! His six year old mind screamed "FAILURE! FAILURE! FAILURE!". He had tried to disobey and fell horribly short. He pictured his uncle appearing and catching his nephew red handed. Panic rang through his head. And kept on ringing. And ringing.

His mind materialized consequences and just threw them out there; being locked in a closet, the cancellation of Sesame Street (Yes, even Alex knew that his uncle held power...), or worse of all, possibly even a cardinal sin: cookie deprivation!

What is he going to DO!? WHAT was he thinking?! He knew better! For God's sake! The choice should be clear! What was he doing?! If Big Bird could see him now...Even that giant piece of poultry would be disappointed.

Confused, distressed, and worried, Alex did what every six year old did in the face of a moral dilemma – He bawled.

* * *

**End note:** I've thought about killing off this story for a long time now. Objections, suggestions, comments? 


End file.
